This blog is a dedicated space for poets of all kinds. Our aim is to share the work of those hidden in the writing community and of course some from our favourites. We try to find new talent, as all of the staff members have different, diverse taste. Thank you for visiting -- Let the inspiration flow.
We track the "poetry" "prose" "spilled ink" and "creative writing" tags.
You were always taught
that bruises were a sign g
of weakness- or sadness- nbut my knees are bloody i
and my heart is fl o a t
and i’m still standing
with scandal and, yes,
delusion of strength
but i’m not broken,
or sad with tree house
splinters so until you’re
bleeding red and purple
within your skin,
don’t pretend you know
the difference between
being happily bruised with
hickeys and bleeding out with
no purpose on a battlefield
Sonja’s note: so gorgeous.
7 
i’ve taken these macabre clothes
and torn their white hems
to the floor,
in doing so I exposed myself,
you saw my scars,
my vodka riddled veins
that was the night constellations fell-
it was your job to watch them
and hold them tight
to the skies
and you know my mom always told me
“do not play with that boy’s heart,
do not look at him like he hangs
the stars in the sky”
but you did. you did hang the stars
in the sky but she didn’t know that
so I made you kiss me and drink me
in until your drunken hands collapsed
the stars to hold my ribs, and I
just kept kissing you until i could
look at you like you didn’t hang them
because that’s what my mama
always taught me.
14 have you ever touched forever?
I can feel it on her lips. lacing, cu
r
ving,
hollowing
itself from
the inside out to
secure uncertainty
and carefully
prepare for the
unknown
that
drip’
s
s
s
from the crevices of every
earthly embodiment;
anything that could ever
fall away from me.
and I know that gripping something
tighter isn’t going to latch it to my
chest but still I wave off goodbye,
try to lick it out of a
star fire kiss,
but a few moments of this distractiondon’t
blur
out
the
bigger picture.
16 I met you in front of a coffee shop and you had pink hair.
the ground littered with half smoked cigarettes you wouldn’t
have dared pick back up. lipstick stamped o’s around every one
of their rims. a smeared full one in the ash tray behind you from
when one of your friends drunkenly stuck the wrong end inside
of her mouth and lit it on fire like she’d been born with a lighter
glued to her hand. you weren’t what I expected. you were never
what I expected. the spaces between your fingers filled hour glasses and punctuated the ends of absent notes with leaky waterfall pens. you
dared the cliffs to jump off of you. nora chuckis, i’ll call you
nora chuckis- I never did learn your name. now we’re
stuck. stuck in love letters to each other that will never
pass through the others hands. bookmark this page with a
strand of your silk hair and come find me. so I can fall in love
with the shards of the beer glass you through at the concrete
because you like hearing it break. you liked being broken. and
yes, i’m sorry, it’s true, no one can fix you.
25 tattered and torn
and fingered. spilled on,
and passed around to
all of your friends.
red lipstick stains,
a dead giveaway
of your history.
oh, yes. you must be
very very popular.
68 Once we’re done and the sky is shattered with mosaics
of black feathers, and the mosquitoes have pierced tightened,
skinny inklings of the ‘i love you’ we left on the backs of napkins and
buried inside the neck rest of a stranger’s seat on an
airplane to Haiti. Once the languages merge together
and the light from the greek remains and the chinese gardens turn on at the same time. once our passports are stamped full and the glass
windows have been pressed against and our coffee mugs have been
marked with my lipstick and once I kiss you goodbye to the tune
of old music and hello to the tune of new books.
once the pirates have met their match and the sea has met us,
will we be worthy of once upon a time?
11 